Morton's Island Ch. 02

"Are you calling from the island?" she asked.

"No! Actually, I'm here, in town. I wondered, you know...?

"How did you find me?"

Her number was unlisted.

"Is that important?"

"Well Yes! Kind of. I do value my privacy."

"You know I can find things out, Jane, if I put my mind to it."

"But how?"

"If you insist. Your bank."

"What? You just walk in and...."

"No! No! You know how it works."

"You bribed someone," Jane said, in a dark tone.

"Well, just a bit. You know, Jane, in England we like to think there is no corruption. But the old saying is true. Every man does indeed have his price."

Morton did not mention that the price he'd paid for Jane's personal information was modest, in the extreme.

"Anyway," Morton continued, "I got your number, I called you and you answered. If you don't wish to speak to me, hang up. I won't call again."

Jane did not hang up.

"What do you want?" she said suspiciously.

"To ask whether you might possibly be free tonight, that's all. For dinner, perhaps?"

As it turned out, Jane was free that night, as indeed, she was most nights. And she knew that whichever venue Morton chose, it would be discrete and the cuisine would be superb.

"That's all," she said, in a suspicious tone. "Just dinner?"

"Yes! Just dinner, for old time's sake."

"Not sex, then?"

"No! No! Not sex. Definitely not sex. Just dinner."

"If you don't want to," Morton continued over the silence on the line, "Just say so. I have no problem with that. I can understand you may feel resentful towards me."

Jane had. But her sense of injury died suddenly. Now she was curious. What was the strangest man she had ever met doing in London? What had happened to his island?

"Ok!"

"Wonderful! Shall we say seven, at......."

Of course, she was right. A private room in a restaurant so upmarket hardly anyone knew of its existence. Jane had put on her finest dress, one that showed off her long, slender legs, and enough of her tits to whet any appetite. She'd showered and washed her long blonde hair, brushing it out so it hung, in fine, silken strands, down her back, almost to the waist. All the time she wondered why she bothered. Morton didn't give a hoot what clothes a woman wore. All he cared about was what was underneath, and he was intimately familiar with every nook and cranny of her body. Whatever she wore, Morton would see through it as though it were not there.

Jane preened herself nevertheless.

Morton rose to greet her.

"My, you are gorgeous," he said admiringly. "I'd almost forgotten."

She gave him a 'Don't give me that' glance, but was glad of the compliment nevertheless. Morton looked much as she had seen him last, except, of course, he wore clothes. Slacks, a shirt open at the neck, a thin jacket. His hair was maybe a tad longer than she remembered; hair that had once been red now bleached white. His face and neck were still deep brown, as, she was sure, was the rest of him.

They sat opposite each other, smiling, perhaps remembering.

The waiter arrived on silent shoe. Jane's menu had no prices. Of course, it wouldn't. She was not to know that Morton's menu was also devoid of pricing. If one had to ask, one did not belong.

"So what drags you away from your island, back to gloomy London," Jane said as she perused the menu.

"I'm only here for a while," Morton said. "In fact, I leave tomorrow. That's why I was so glad you were free this evening. It really is wonderful to see you, especially looking so ... er .... wonderful."

She really did, Morton thought. Of course, he knew she was as beautiful as only an English rose can be, a beauty that extended from the flow of her hair to the tip of her toe. Elektra and Jane, the two most gorgeous women he had ever known. Yet he saw in Jane that evening something more. A radiance, a glow that, perhaps, reminded him of the way she'd looked as he'd sat before her while she teased him, taunted him, drove him to such a heat of desire he'd broken his own promise to himself. That last phenomenal fuck.

"Back to the island, then, is it?" she was saying, interrupting his thought train.

"No, actually!" Morton replied, casually. "The Himalayas."

"The what!?"

"The Himalayas.... You know, the mountains."

There was a brief pause while Jane took this in. Then she said, in jest, though only partly,

"I suppose you've decided to climb Everest."

"Oh goodness me no," Morton replied. "Everest? It's for tourists. The guides cart them up in droves. No! It's Nanga Parbat. D'you know it?"

"Er ... I think I may have heard of it."

"Eighth largest of the chain, I believe. Something like that. But by far the hardest to climb. They call it the Killer Mountain, you know. Well some say K2 is just as bad. Maybe that's next in line."

"You're joking, Morton, surely. Why on earth would you want to climb a killer mountain?"

"You know me," he replied, in self-deprecating tone. "Always doing something new."

"Yes. I do know that. But risking your life on Nanga .... What did you call it?"

"Parbat. Nanga Parbat. Half the people who get in sight of the summit don't make it. And half that make the summit don't get back down to tell the tale."

"Good Lord, Morton. Are you serious?"

"Perfectly. It's my new challenge."

"But what happened to .... er ... sex? Your island?"

"Oh that's in the past," Morton said, dismissively.

"You're never going back?"

"I never go back."

"Have you sold the island? Or what?"

"Sell? No! I gave it to the islanders. It belongs to them really. They sold it to me, but it was theirs really. I didn't belong."

"So your 'experiment' did not work?"

"Experiment?"

"Well, all that about...."

Jane turned and scoured the room. The waiter was so quiet he could be standing right behind her.

".... Cock whipping. Cunt whipping," she mouthed.

"Oh! That. Yes and No, I suppose one would have to say. I did pursue it, and it did 'work' as I told you it would. We kept it up for, what? Well, from when you left until a few weeks ago."

"Have you chosen?" he said, suddenly. "I can recommend the clams sautéed in white wine with fennel and chives. Not as good as cook used to prepare, of course, but rather acceptable nevertheless."

"I was thinking of the gazpacho," Jane replied. "Is that good?"

"Never tried it. But here, it will certainly be good, if you like that kind of thing."

There was a brief silence as menus were consulted. Jane decided on the gazpacho followed by breast of Aylesbury duckling, braised in red wine, served on a bed of arugula with white onions, asparagus and new potatoes.

She looked up. Morton had set his menu aside.

"You didn't answer my question, Morton," Jane said.

"Question?"

"Whether your experiment worked. I mean, if it did, why are you here, and about to go off to climb some killer mountain in the Himalayas. Why are you not still on the island getting your ...." she looked around .... "dick flogged. Have you given up sex, or what?"

"Mmm! It's a fair question, Jane. Have I given up sex? I don't know. We'll see when I get back from Nanga Parbat. If I get back."

"That doesn't sound like you, Morton. You're always so confident."

"Perhaps that's it, Jane. Climbing Nanga Parbat is not like other challenges. Once you get above 25,000', you lose control of your own destiny. This belongs to the Gods, and if they so decide, along comes a freak storm, or an avalanche. It's not wise to plan too far ahead, as it were."

Jane shivered.

"Better you than me," she said.

"Yes! It is a bit mad. But then, as you so rightly pointed out when we first met, everything I do is slightly mad. No-one can escape their fate."

"Interesting you should say that, Morton," Jane said in a tone of 'significance'. But Morton did not pick up on it.

The waiter arrived and took their orders. Morton chose escargots followed by filet de boeuf 'medium rare'.

"Had enough sea food to last a lifetime," he muttered to Jane. Then to the waiter,

"We'll need a white and a red. I'll leave it to you. Just bring the best wines in your cellars that match our orders."

When the waiter had retired, Jane said,

"I still don't get the picture. If your experiment 'worked' like you said it would, then why give it up?"

Morton thought for a while. Then he said,

"The real reason, I believe, is that I reached the pinnacle, and had begun a descent. That's what it boils down to."

"Ha! And the pinnacle? What was that like?"

"You know as well as I do," Morton replied, solemnly.

"How so?" Jane said, surprised.

"Because you were with me at the time. That last fuck, remember?"

"How could I ever forget? You mean it? That was the best?"

Morton thought for a moment.

"It's hard to think back," he said, pensively. "But if I try, that does stand out in memory."

"So all that ... flogging cocks and cunts took you no further?"

"For a while I thought it did. I mean, when I say it worked, I mean it 'worked'. It really did. Cock training does indeed preserve erection and increase stamina. I dare say I did pretty well when you were around, but it got even better. And the sensations were surely new, different."

"So what went wrong?"

"Nothing really. It worked the way it's supposed to, I suppose, on the Islands."

"So you passed the test?"

"Oh easily. Surpassed it by miles. But, well, I suppose I'd forgotten to take into account that the island culture is matriarchal."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The male is a second class citizen, Jane. The system works primarily for the benefit of the female. That's what I mean. It was hard to overlook. You think you had orgasms. MiGod, you should have seen what I saw. A young slip of a girl, flogged to buggery ... er ... pardon my language. Her cunt red raw from the whip, but come? Holy Moses! She came in massive spasms until her body couldn't take it any longer. Four of 'em, one after the other. Night after night. Amazing!"

Of course, Morton made no mention of Elektra, who had also enjoyed orgasm rather frequently without having her cunt flogged to buggery. It would not have been gentlemanly to vouchsafe this to Jane, though, would it?

"At first," he continued, "I fooled myself into believing, perhaps because I wanted to, that it was better for me, too. I did enjoy the experience. I'd do it again. It gave me great pleasure. But gradually I came to understand that it was certainly better for my .. er ... female companions than it ... er ...was for me."

"Now that's really interesting," Jane said. A smile had crossed her face. It remained in place as the waiter arrived with their aperitifs.

Still Morton did not pick up on it --- that her smile was not casual, but a response to his remarks.

"No!" Morton continued, dolefully. "The constant 'training' enhanced my performance, but made my dick less sensitive. Well, I suppose it's that. Something, whatever it was, dulled the sensation. Makes sense, doesn't it. I had to grow a hide to protect myself from the lash. This is what kept it propped up through it all, but over time it also masked the feeling."

Jane was still smiling, as Morton ended up,

"No! Jane. That flogging stuff does wonders for the female. But it kills off pleasure for the male. Of course, I still had my orgasms, but as time went by I realized sex was becoming less and less satisfying. I did enjoy watching the females writhing in ecstasy, awash in orgasm. But in the end it occurred to me that this was what I enjoyed the most. 'What about me?', I began to ask. That's the sad truth about it."

There was a long silence as they ate. Jane wondered. To tell or not to tell?

'Oh what the hell,' she said to herself eventually.

"Want to hear a story, Morton?"

"What story?"

"I think you'll find it interesting."

"Go ahead then. I'm all for interesting stories."

Jane took a brief gulp of air. Then she began.

"When I left your island and returned to London, I really did not know what to do with myself. When you get used to that much sex, when it plays such a central role in your life, it's hard to find a substitute. I did try to follow up on the marketing class I took, but it was so bland. Thanks to you I'll never need money, so why bother doing something you don't really like that much if you don't have to."

"I can see what you mean," Morton replied. "Perhaps I did you a disservice."

"No! Not at all. I wouldn't want the time we spent together back. I loved every minute of it and it remains a very pleasant memory. It always will."

"Even if it did end sadly," Morton said.

"That's where we come to the interesting bit," Jane replied. "Did it?"

Morton wondered what was coming. A lover better than himself? Perish the thought. Morton was not a vain man. But he had come to regard Jane as someone special, for him, and assumed that this was mutual. He was 'special' for her. A lover had taken to her heights they had not scaled together? Surely not! He listened intently.

Jane ran quickly through a preamble, how she'd tried to recapture the state of sexual ecstasy that had been her normal way of being for so long.

"Lovers, I had. Well, fucks, would be more accurate. I only have to walk into a pub, you know, and take my pick. Sometimes I had three or four a day. I must have gone through hundreds before it became clear that it was not me, but them. Not one of them got me off. Not really. And, as you know," she continued, "it's not that hard."

She turned to 'toys' and wore several out. They got her off.

"But it was never the same. The ones that you prod with, dildos, don't work anything like as well as a cock pounding you into the bed. And the vibrators for your clit, well, they give you an orgasm all right, but after three or four your clit goes dead."

She sighed.

"Maybe I am a nympho," she said. "I resigned myself to my fate. Nothing would ever be enough, could ever match ... well ... you and me."

Morton chewed thoughtfully on his steak, watching as Jane slid a piece of duckling between her full lips. A nympho? If she was, then she'd become one. It was his doing, his fault. He was about to say as much when Jane continued.

"Then one day I caught this ad. I can't remember where. Somewhere online:

'Dom 4 lady Sub. Egzelent game. Dizcreet. Low rait.'"

"That was it, spelled any which way. I don't know what came over me. I mean, I did know what a 'Dom' is. And when I told you pain was a turn off I really meant it. But I could hear your voice in my ear. 'Until you've tried it, how do you know?' I'd tried everything else, but not that. Maybe I was just curious. I thought, well, like with your ad in the Times way back when, why not call and see. What harm can that do?"

"A Dom, you say," Morton muttered, thoughtfully.

"Yes! Igor is the genuine article, I assure you of that."

"Igor?"

"That's what he calls himself. He has a thick Russian accent, but I'll bet it's feigned. He was probably born and bred in the East End."

Her tinkle of laughter confused Morton. His successor, a Dom? Surely not?

"Wherever he's from," Jane had continued, "he's the only guy I've ever met who gets close to you in self-assurance. When I called, you know what he said?"

"I'm all ears."

Morton was not liking what he was hearing, but he was listening anyway.

"When you free," Jane went on, mimicking what she supposed was a Russian accent. "Game four hour."

"Of course, I baulked at that. He heard me out, then said:

'I Dom. You vant? You not vant. Is not important me. You vant, you say ven. Four hour. I tell vere.'"

"It was so like when you said to me 'Shall we say, dinner at eight?' So final somehow, but...."

"Don't tell me you fell for it?"

"I did. I really did. My days were empty anyway. I suppose I was grasping at a straw. I thought, well, the last time you took a chance, it worked out well for you. Very well...."

She glanced at Morton.

"You know how well," she said, continuing blithely,

"So I said

'How about two o'clock tomorrow?'"

"'Ok! You visit dungeon' he replied and reeled off a street address. He waited until I'd written it down --- he had to repeat three times, his accent was so atrocious. Then he said:

'Now take ov clothe.'

'What?' I said, not believing he could have said what I thought I heard.

'Take off clothe. Right now. All. You leave off clothe. Tomorrow put on dress. Underneath nuzzink. Is understood? You disobey, I throw out. I see mark vrom clothe, I throw out. Is understood? I stay on phon.'

Honestly, that's what he said."

"And you didn't hang up, or be rude, or...."

"No! That's the strange thing. It was completely out of character. A moment of madness, for sure. But there was something compelling about his voice. Well, to cut the story short....."

"You stripped on the spot, with him on the line!?"

"Yes. I did. I really did.

'I'm naked now,' I said, breathlessly, and you know what he replied?"

"I can hardly wait."

"'Me listen cunt. Finger in, out, in, out,'

Honestly, that's what he said. I don't know what came over me, but I did what he asked. I placed the earpiece between my thighs and stuck my finger in and out. It was amazing. I was wet as all hell. It really slurped.

'Is good,' he said.

Then he hung up."

Morton was speechless. He was halfway through a mouthful of filet, but his mouth got stuck. Jane's tinkle of a laugh brought him out of it.

"You look like a fish," she said. "On those reefs at the island."

"I'm sorry, Jane. It's just that ...."

"You think I wouldn't do this."

"It doesn't sound like you."

"Well I did it, and wait. I haven't even got started yet."

Chapter 8

"Obviously, you kept the appointment", Morton said, a shade crossly, though Jane did not notice.

"Yes! But don't think it was lightly. I second guessed myself twelve times. But at no time between the call and leaving my apartment did I even think of putting anything on. I mean, honestly, that call, just that call, turned me on like nothing had since... well ... since I left the island. I masturbated all night, came three times, and when I got into the cab I was trembling all over. MiGod! Do you ever feel naked getting into a cab with only thin fabric between the cabbie and your tits, a short dress and no knickers. I nearly asked the cabbie to drive on when we got there, but I didn't. 'See it through', something kept telling me. I probably caught that from you."

Morton maintained silence. What could he say? This was Jane's monologue. He'd subjected her to a few.

"I ring the bell, where he told me to, and the door buzzes open. There's a stairwell, leading down. Quite a way down. At the bottom, a door opens. I enter and it closes. OhMiGod, I'm thinking. Quite honestly, I expected to be gang raped. I think I was even ready to be gang raped. Rape it would not have been. I hadn't been so damn horny since ... well, you know. I can't keep on saying it."

"It's dark inside, and my eyes are blinking to accustom themselves to the only light, which came from a couple of candles set into one wall. It's a dungeon all right, though. This I can see.

'Take ov dress, shoe' his voice rang out, echoing off the bare walls."

"Of course, I'd gone this far, I wasn't going to stop now, so I obeyed. And as my dress fell to the stone floor, I was conscious of his presence beside me. My legs were trembling so much I could hardly maintain a stance. Suddenly he was at my other side. He'd gone silently around behind me. Then he stepped out and stood in front of me. I mean, hell, I was stark naked, but those eyes seemed to penetrate though my skin, right into me, to my soul. He had blue eyes, like yours. In fact he bore a marked resemblance to you, Morton. His chest was hairy, his hair long and curled up the back of his neck. But he was swarthy, with a beard, not long, but jet black. I guess I must have looked down because he said, sharply, 'Look straight'. I obeyed immediately. His voice had that effect. But I'd noticed he was not naked. He wore tight leather pants. His feet were bare."